Estrogen Overload
by The Beached Pirate
Summary: Zoro was never going shopping with Nami again.


I'm horrible about uploading in a timely fashion…I'm sorry! All I can say was that my computer got a virus and that slowed me down quite a bit, then I had a case of the dreaded writer's block (cue gasps) that made everything I write crappy. And my readers deserve better material than crap. Especially mine. Because my craps's really crappy.

But enough about my crap.

***NOTICE: I sent everyone who reviewed _Fatally Ironic _a PM. If you reviewed and didn't recieve one, let me know and I'll try and find some way to send you what I sent you in my reply PM.***

Without further ado, enjoy my first unattached ZoroxNami oneshot!

**Title**: _Estrogen Overload  
_**Author**: Beached Pirate (Formerly Red Moon Santōryū)  
**Category**: One Piece  
**Rating**: PG-13 (T)  
**Warnings**: Zoro's mouth, suggestive themes.  
**Parings**: ZoroxNami, if you squint.  
**Summary**: Zoro was never going shopping with Nami again.  
**Word Count**: 2,296  
**Disclaimer**: One Piece and its characters are property of Eiichirō Oda.

* * *

Roronoa Zoro was the epitome of independence. For years, he had traveled, fought, ate, slept, and bled with one person and one person alone: himself. He didn't need anyone at all, and that was a plain fact that the Straw Hat crew found to be made painfully obvious by the first mate. He didn't like how Luffy always clung to him like an oversized brawny teddy bear. He didn't like how Chopper coddled him like an infant whenever he got so much as a papercut. And least of all, he didn't like how Nami hung around him whenever she needed him to do something. Specifically, something he didn't want to do.

So on that particular day, while docked in in the harbor of a small island in the middle of the Grand Line, as Zoro leaned against the railing of the Going Merry and looked at the blue water lapping at the hull and sweeping up onto the sandy shores, he gave an involuntary groan as a set of small footsteps approached him from the starboard side of the deck.

Right eye twitching , the swordsman turned his head to glower at the orange-haired navigator who had taken up a stance beside him, grinning cattily up at him, as if she knew that her presence tormented him and she was enjoying every minute of it. They remained that way for several moments, Zoro glaring down at her with narrowed eyes and Nami looking back up with a sickeningly innocent expression.

Face twisted into a grimace, the first mate turned back to look out across the small bay where the numerous oceangoing vessels were moored. Rule number one about dealing with people: there's a fifty-fifty chance that if you ignore the person who's bothering you, they'll simply leave. Zoro could only hope against hope that Nami was one of the fifty percent that would do just that.

_Not likely_, he thought bitterly.

So, as the minutes ticked past and neither one made a move to leave the spot, the Santōryū master began to lose hope. While he did pride himself on being a strong-willed individual, there was only so much of the damn woman he could take. And the worst part was that she _knew _it, and used it to her advantage all of the time. Biting back another groan as he heard the soft staccato of fingernails tapping against the railing of the ship, he twisted his neck to look down at her again and finally speak. Certainly, pain was merely weakness leaving the body, but pain induced by Nami was sanity leaving his mind.

"Damn it all, woman," the swordsman growled, teeth bared and neck craned to glare daggers at the navigator. "What do you _want_?"

"Nothing," she replied simply before taking on a thoughtful expression that made Zoro consider the option of flinging himself overboard and making a mad doggy-paddle for the shore. "Although, now that you mention it…"

_Oh crap._

"I need to go and pick up some supplies, and I need some muscle to help carry them."

"Go get Sanji to do it. That fool'd jump at the chance to do anything for you," Zoro snapped back. When in doubt with anything concerning women, always refer them to the love-cook.

"He's on the other side of town picking up food."

"He's been gone for two hours. He should be back any minute."

"You don't know that."

"How the hell long do you think it takes to buy some meat?"

"It's more complicated than that, _Zoro_," Nami retorted, casting the first mate an irritated glance. "He needs to make sure it's fresh, so all our food doesn't spoil on sea, and-"

"Ask Luffy."

"He's in town too."

"Usopp?"

"Gone."

"Chopper?"

"Everyone's in town, Zoro," Nami replied, staring at him with a look that let him know he was backed into a corner. "_Everyone_."

At this point, Zoro figured he had two options. He could agree to go on this stupid shopping excursion with the slim needle-in-a-haystack chance that Nami would be more lenient with his outrageous "debt" next time he needed some money. Or, he could do what his swordsman's instinct was ordering him to do and tell the bitchy navigator to take a hike. And while the former of the two was probably safer, the latter seemed much more appealing.

"No, I'm not hauling your crap around in the baking noonday sun when you're fully capable of doing it on your own," Zoro snapped back.

He should have known that she wouldn't let it go without a fight.

"Alright then, how about this," she grinned up at the swordsman, moving even further into his personal space. "If you do this I'll forget about all the money you owe me."

Four seconds ticked past. An eyebrow rose and a voice laced with caution asked, "What's the catch?"

"No catch," the female replied innocently. "All you have to do is go shopping with me and I'll clear your debt. All three hundred-thousand beli."

Zoro jutted his chin out defiantly. "Wait a minute," he began, glaring down at her as she glanced questioningly back up at him. "Last time you yelled at me you said I only owned you-"

Nami grinned like a Cheshire cat and put a her index finger to the swordsman's lips (much to his dismay), witch effectively silenced him. "Let's not waste time on trivial miscommunications, Zoro," she responded, taking pride in the fact that her actions and tone of voice were making the Santōryū master's normally composed face turn beet-red. "Do we have a deal, or what?"

Zoro could hardly form a coherent thought, let alone speak. His predicament was one that he had never had to face before in all his years. An admittedly attractive member of the opposite sex was standing less than six inches away from him, grinning cannily up at him, with her hand on his face and her finger against his mouth. His jaw tightened and, though his face was stil red, he drew back out of her arm's length and grumbled, "Deal."

He would soon regret his decision.

_

* * *

_

The port town was bigger than it had seemed from the ship. It sat in the flatlands between towering green mountains and the beaches bordering the bay. In all reality, if the swordsman had any sense of direction, he would have been able to walk through the town and back in less than thirty minutes. For some reason, however, Zoro had been in that town for over two hours. He had to wonder if maybe he was so bored that time was just creeping by to piss him off…

But he knew that it had been because Nami had made him escort her to ever single damn store that sold anything of the fashion variety.

So far, he had accumulated a grand total of nine bags. Four hung from each arm like outlandish Christmas ornaments while one single bright pink shopping bag hung from his clenched teeth. The first mate silently cursed the witch as she strode gleefully down the street in front of him, scoping out the streetfront shops for any other "boutiques," as she called them, to drag her makeshift pack mule into. His teeth were meant to hold Wadou Ichimonji, not some damn pink paper bag of dresses and skirts and whatnots.

And that was just the tip of the feminine iceberg.

Evidently, women felt it necessary to try on every damn thing they laid their eyes on, including things that looked two sizes too small. Which made the tips of Zoro's ears turn pink when Nami had told him to wait in one of the chairs outside of the dressing rooms. When the obvious question of "Why?" was asked, she replied that she needed his "honest opinion."

So when she stepped out in a pair of khaki shorts and asked him if they made her butt look big, he wasn't expecting the punch to the head when he told her yes. Zoro didn't particularly care if his pants made his ass look like two inflated balloons, but apparently people who had estrogen surpluses did. Namely, orange-haired short-tempered navigators.

Then it _really _went downhill.

Zoro never really was one to associate himself with girls, not even before he joined the crew. The only girl he had ever really been close to had been Kuina, but she hadn't been a typical one. And if Nami was a typical female, he knew the reason why he was wary of them. That coupled with the fact that she thought she was the self-proclaimed fashion consultant of the crew nearly drove him to the verge on giving up on women all together.

"You know," she said, turning in the street to look at him, "your wardrobe is kind of…bland."

"Eh?" he grunted out through the handle of the bag, eyes narrowing at the navigator.

"You have no variety! You wear the same white shirt and black pants _every single day_!"

He was about to open his mouth and tell her that, no, he had several pairs of the same outfit, but she cut him off and continued.

"And if it wasn't for Sanji and I hounding you and Chopper's rants on how good hygiene is beneficial to your health, I bet you wouldn't even wash them! And you hardly even do as it is!"

Zoro could feel a familiar twitching in his right eye.

"And you work out all day, get all sweaty and gross, put dirty clothes on, and then _bleed _in them! You have no idea how hard it is to get all that blood and sweat and dirt out of your clothes, Zoro."

"Dammit, woman-"

"We're getting you some new clothes."

An eerie silence seemed to permeate through the street, even though it was crowded with people. Or maybe Zoro was just imagining it in his daunting task of trying to figure out where she got the damn _nerve _to tell him how to dress. Who in the hell did she think she was? He was Roronoa Zoro, dammit! You didn't just _tell _one of the most feared ex-bounty hunters in the world how to _dress_!

So why was he letting her drag him into a men's clothing store?

Though Zoro knew that she might have a point, he certainly wasn't going to just go along with her little dress-up game without at least grumbling about it. And grumble he did.

"I don't need any new clothes," he snarled down at her as she sorted though the numerous shirts on the clothes rack. "I like the ones I have just fine."

"Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully, her choice to ignore him only serving to annoy him further. "You seem like you'd look good in blue."

"Son of a bitch, woman, just pick something so we can leave!"

She turned her head to glare up at him. "This isn't supposed to be a rushed job, idiot! I'm not about to have you walk around in a shirt that clashes with that ridiculous shrub growing out of the top of your head."

That one hit the mark. "Now wait just a minute-"

"Here." She shoved a short-sleeved blue button-up shirt at him. "Go and try this on. And stop being such a baby."

Had his arms not been preoccupied with the numerous shopping bags, he probably would have beat the nearest male senseless. So he merely grumbled and stalked across the store, Nami following closely behind him, and stopped in front of the dressing stall. He stood there and stared at it as if it were some sort of foreign anomaly before dropping the bags and begrudgingly entering the small room.

The sound of rustling clothing and several mumbled curses later, the swordsman emerged looking defeated and angry. He glowered at the navigator who beamed excitedly up at him with bright eyes and a wide grin. She grabbed onto his forearm as he picked up the numerous bags and pulled him towards the cash register, gushing over him like she had discovered something amazing.

So what? He looked good in blue.

Big whoop.

"This is such a great shirt!" she chirped happily as he fumed and stumbled behind her. "We're getting it!"

"No we're not!" he barked back, though he made little effort to stop. "You're going to get it and then add that to my 'debt,' with interest!"

"Oh, I will not!" she snapped at him as she gave the startled sales clerk the appropriate amount of money for the shirt. "Stop being such a child! This is the best you've ever looked."

He was about to shoot back a snarky retort, but was cut off as she grabbed onto his hand and pulled him outside. Though he was still suspicious about whether or not she was being completely honest about not charging him for the shirt, he allowed himself to be dragged down the street towards the harbor. It had been nearly three hours since they had left, and Nami had to be as worn out as he was.

"Don't worry about the shirt," she said finally, relinquishing her grip on his hand and allowing him to keep his own pace behind her. "My treat."

He scoffed quietly, rolling his eyes.

She merely smiled, because she knew that was his own special way of thanking her. But when she turned onto a street they had yet to travel down, he stopped in disbelief and stared at her.

"What the hell else could you possibly need, woman?"

"Lingerie."

Silence.

"Oh," he muttered, looking down.

More silence.

"Are you just going to stand there?"

As he followed her with a red tint to his cheeks, he silently wondered if any of these building offered cold showers.


End file.
